


The Other Three

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal, Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cheating, Dom Brendon Urie, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, Fluff but only kind of, Gay, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Sorry, Kinky Shit, M/M, Nicole is cool, Rimming, Sort Of, Stan Nicole, so much gay, they're on tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon's an idiot who can't control himself.Mike is dumb enough to fall for him.Sin happens.*NO ONE READ THIS RN I AM REVISING*
Relationships: Brendon Urie/Dallon Weekes, Mike Naran/Brendon Urie, Sarah Orzechowski/Brendon Urie (implied)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	The Other Three

**Author's Note:**

> Literally on person will read this but that's okay cause it's just. A sin. I'm sorry god.

It started, like so many other mistakes, with a bottle of alcohol.

Nicole, Dan, and Mike had decided that for once, they were going to get really, properly wasted. “We’ve been in LA three times this week,” Nicole had whined. “And not one full-out bender!” They’d watched Brendon get wasted—of course they had—and then driven him home, all three somehow adopting the role of designated driver. Being a member of The Other Three meant you had both a job full of making music, and also a job full of making sure Brendon didn’t fall asleep on his stomach. It meant screaming into a microphone and it meant only whispering on those accursed Sunday afternoons.

But they weren’t going to think about that tonight. They were going to get wasted, and they were going to be a bunch of useless drunks, muttering nonsense to themselves in the stale morning light. They would finally have a typical rockstar experience. That was the plan, anyway. 

It was Dan’s job to tell Brendon where they were going, and call him if they were in an emergency. It was also Dan’s job to tell Brendon in the gentlest of terms why he wasn’t invited. They had drawn straws, and Dan had lost. So he was feeling rather resentful, sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for Brendon to arrive. 

And he definitely wasn’t feeling his best when he noticed a bottle of alcohol, just lying in the lobby. Full. What happened next he barely remembered—reaching for the bottle, downing it, and then a panic over whether he’d been poisoned, followed by a reassurance that he had not been poisoned, but was spectacularly drunk. He wandered around the hotel, yelling at paintings and the like. He didn’t tell Brendon what they were doing.

In hindsight, Brendon thinks of what happened that night as a catalyst. A fancy word for a little thing that starts big shit. When people asked what he’d been thinking later, he would tell them that he really hadn’t. His mind and legs and arms and heart had moved on their own, him just tagging along for the ride. It didn’t feel fair to call himself a hero when he didn’t even know why he’d done it.

Mike and Nicole went to the bar after a while, eventually deciding Dan had ditched them for whatever reason. It was a glittery place—full of fake and real stars. They ordered drinks with cool names and threw darts. Their eyelids grew heavy and music pounded in their brains. The world began to spin. For Mike especially. Lightweight, Nicole had slurred. You’re a lightweight.

Time just blended together. All the colors mixing to form a blackish-green. 

Brendon had found Mike in the back of an alley, puking under a pink neon sign. He had scooped the smaller man up, not even minding the stench of smoke and glitter, just wanting Mike and Nicole back, having looked for them for hours. He barely spoke the whole search, hands tightly grasping the wheel. It was maybe the first time in years he hadn’t played music in the car. 

Nicole followed Brendon, confused but still able to speak. She was obviously still blacked out, as evidenced by her not knowing where they were. You are in the worst part of LA, Brendon wanted to say. You should never have come here. You are so lucky I found you, you don’t even know. But he figured, deep down, Nicole knew that. She was smart enough to know what she was getting herself into. She had a taste for danger, but didn’t show it. 

The magic happened when Brendon was driving. Nicole, lying in the backseat. Mike right next to Brendon. It was about three am, the worst part of the night. According to a few campfire tales Brendon had heard, it was the witching hour. He didn’t believe that. But he looked over at Mike, fast asleep, the moonlight hitting his cheeks, and he almost crashed the car.

Dear god, he remembers thinking. Dear god. 

There had been a hint of feelings towards Mike for a while now, but Brendon had excused them as overprotectiveness. As friendship. As anything else, just not another crush, please. He couldn’t excuse anything that night. He looked at Mike, at his tousled hair and sunken eyes, and he felt himself crumble. 

“You did the right thing, dude,” Zach had said, clapping him on the back. “Glad you found them when you did.”

All Brendon could do was look back at him with haunted eyes. “I’m fucked,” he said, quietly. “I’m so fucked.”

\---------------

It was halfway through the show when Brendon, a stupidly big smile on his face, threw an arm around Mike’s shoulders. Nicole was busy hopping around, and Dan was behind the drums like always, but Mike was just standing there, playing guitar. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Mike was just standing there, playing guitar, with Brendon Urie’s face dangerously close to his neck.

“Well, I’m a scholar and a gentlemen…” Brendon sang, his lips pressed against the microphone. 

This is cool, Mike thought. Totally, totally cool. I’m comfortable. I’m chill. I’m playing guitar. And Brendon has his hand on my neck. I’m playing guitar. And Brendon has his hand on my back. I’m playing guitar. Dancing a little. And Brendon has his hand on my ass. I’m playing guitar. Dancing. Guitar. This is cool. I am cool with this. 

For a moment, Mike considered that this might be it. Just a little ass grab. It was a first from Brendon, for sure, but it wasn’t that bad. If he was being honest it was actually pretty nice. He wasn’t ready to be honest, though. So he lied to himself and said that this had to be it. This was as far as things were going to go. He lied to himself right up until Brendon licked his neck. 

And fuck, that shouldn’t feel so good. 

He couldn’t move--he almost stopped playing. The only thing saving him was his innate knowledge of every song, his basic muscle memory married with a deep love of the music. That was what he usually focused on during concerts. The music. Now he was focused on Brendon destroying his neck with bites and licks. Fuck. I will never forgive myself if I moan right now, Mike told himself. I will never forgive myself. 

“Ugh, oh god—“ Brendon clearly didn’t have the same reservations. He was humping Mike’s thigh now, which. Oh god. And just murmuring the most sinful things into that microphone. “Fuck, you feel—“

Mike’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. It was an exaggeration, he knew. A bit of crazy stage action that served to excite the fangirls and not much else. Still, he had to picture dead kittens to stop himself from getting a little too…excited.

“Oh my—so close Mike I’m so close—“ Dead. Kittens. Dead. Lying in the pavement with blood pouring out of cuts in their cute little faces. Dead. Kittens.

He closed his eyes. 

Brendon tore himself away when the song ended, but not before blowing a kiss in Mike’s direction. “Mike motherfucking Naran everyone! Let’s give him a hand, huh?”

“Dude, someone’s got to break it to him.”

Those were Nicole’s words the second she got off stage, still full of show adrenaline and dressed in something just a few sizes too small. 

Dan didn’t respond at first. He was the kind of guy that thought before he spoke, which Nicole respected. He was also the kind of guy that didn’t want to offend anyone, which Nicole could not stand. “I don’t know,” Dan said, “he didn’t like, kiss Mike.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “He did everything but. That’s how it starts—you fucking know that’s how it starts.”

“Much as I hate to admit, she’s right,” Zach added. He was staring at the ceiling, a strangely tired look in his eyes.

Nicole had never been the type to have a large group of friends--having a few close ones, that was more her style. At least, she’d felt that way until tour. It was nice having four or five people to hang with. It was easier than being alone, anyway. For the first time she felt like she had a honest-to-god, walk-in-slow-motion, ride-or-die crew. So she got protective. She worried about her friends more than any human should. Mike especially.

“He’s clueless!” Nicole protested. “He doesn’t know what’s coming, and if we don’t give him some kind of warning--”

“Hmm?” Mike’s head popped up from behind a door, his face just a little too red.

Zach collapsed to the ground, a loud groan leaving his lips. “Ugh, can someone get a computer? Mikey, you might wanna sit down.”

“You know I hate that nickname.”

Dan pulled out his phone, gesturing for Mike to come closer. “This will be quick, okay? We just want to talk to you about something. You’re gonna be fine.”

“No he’s fucking not!” Zach yelled, and slapped the floor. It maybe would’ve seemed threatening coming from someone else, but with Zach it just came off as childish.

“Look--” Mike seemed to find what he was looking for on his phone. “You know what stage gay is, right? Like what kind of stage gay Brendon’s done?”

Mike shrugged. “Well, yeah, like he did it with Ryan--”

“He was on some pussy shit then,” Zach interrupted. “Have you seen what he did with Dallon Weekes?”

Nicole knew without even looking at Mike that he didn’t have a clue. His innocence was a strange kind--he drank, he got in fights, and he definitely wasn’t a virgin. Yet when it came down to trusting people, he never faltered. He never once questioned a shady character, instead choosing to believe, without pause, that the people around him only ever had good intentions. He was strangely blind to the seedy underbelly of the earth. 

“I-um.” He didn’t need to explain further--Dan was shoving the phone towards him, and the video was starting to play. A stage gay compilation. Fifteen minutes long, so on the shorter side. Nicole bit the inside of her cheek.

Zach rolled over. “Say good-bye to your innocence, bitch.”

The video was fifteen minutes long. But Mike’s questions seemed to last forever. They were full of stutters, and said between long, terrified stares into the distance. Nicole was wondering if they had done the right thing. Dan was sure they hadn’t. Zach had fallen asleep about two minutes in.

“Wait, if like, this happens--” Mike began. “Will I--”

“Leave? Well, it’s only ever happened like that before, so,” Nicole said, rather unhelpfully.

Mike wailed. “I don’t wanna leave!”

Dan hurried over to Mike’s side, desperate to provide even the smallest amount of comfort. “Listen, Mike, we’re not going to let that happen, okay? Brendon’s a weird dude, but he also wouldn’t make you do anything you wouldn’t want to do.”

“What if I don’t know what I want?” Mike asked, voice still quivering.

There was a moment of silence. Nicole and Dan exchanged a look. “As in…?” Dan ventured.

“I-I just.” Mike exhaled. “I don’t know what to think about any of this. I hate to say this, but could someone wake Zach up so he could explain? I just, I really don’t know.”

Nicole frowned, and pointed at the aforementioned Zach, who was now drooling. “You want to wake him up?”

“He’s been here longer than us!” 

“I mean--” Dan scratched the back of his neck. “Dude’s not wrong. Plus, it’s not like we’re gonna let Zach sleep the entire night back here, that’s probably illegal.”

“Plus, Brendon would be pissed,” Nicole added, her face sullen. 

It was getting darker outside. The night was closing in. Mike didn’t think he’d be sleeping, hell, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind. He needed answers. Needed an explanation. He wanted to know what he was getting himself into. He fumbled for any assurance that things would be okay—that his life wouldn’t have to change. That he wasn’t an idiot for hoping everything would be alright.

“You’re an idiot.”

Brendon had just laughed, shimmying into his leather pants with as much dignity as he could muster. “Or maybe I’m a genius, and you’re the idiot. Ever think of that, Zach?”

“No.” Zach crossed his arms. “Cause you’re an idiot.”

Another fucking laugh. It had been early in the morning, that cursed time just before the dawn. Brendon was getting ready for a show that was in two hours, because of course he was. Zach was awake because he had been trying to catch Brendon slipping up. Revealing that one part of his private life Zach would kill to keep secret. It was practically Zach’s entire job at this point: keep Brendon Urie’s secrets. He may never retire.

He sighed, and re-crossed his arms. “I know what you’re doing, Brendon. You and Dallon aren’t as discreet as you think you are. Security cameras exist, even where you think they don’t.”

No reaction.

“Honestly, what do you think is going to happen? You think everything’s going to turn out fine? People are going to get fucking hurt because of you. You don’t sleep with bandmates, Bren. Especially not the married ones. There isn’t a single band in history where that’s worked out.”

Brendon pretended to think about it. “Fleetwood Mac?”

Zach groaned, and shook his head. “Do you even know how bad an answer that is?”

A shrug. A fucking shrug. 

He needed to lie down. To have a little nap. A tiny little nap. “Just don’t blame me when it all comes crashing down. I’m not going to hold your hand and say it wasn’t your fault this time. You fucked up. You. No one else.”

It took awhile for Zach to make good on his promise. To Brendon’s credit, he kept all the spinning plates in the air as long as he could. He did his best to let people down gently. He did his best to solve every single problem in his life, and his best wasn’t that bad. Still, the cards were stacked. Not to mention, Brendon was naturally terrible at getting out of trouble. Eventually, it did all come crashing down. Quietly, but surely enough, he was left with nothing. For a few weeks Zach could barely speak to Brendon, gritting his teeth when they ran into each other.

And yet. They were friends. They remained friends through all the piles of shit and mountains of crap. They remained friends because they needed each other in the worst kind of way. Brendon needed someone to stand behind him and ward off shadows. Zach needed someone to make him feel human. 

It all been going fine until Mike showed up.

Zach explains with his head leaning against the wall and a margarita in his right hand. The atmosphere is more confused than solemn, as Mike tried to glean as much helpful information as possible while Nicole and Dan played Uno in the corner.

“They went at it for weeks,” Zach continued. “Even when they were miles apart. You’d be driving Brendon somewhere and he’d be in the backseat, rubbing one out to a random picture of Dallon at the beach. It got old, fast.”

Mike scribbled something down. 

Nicole cheered. “Plus four motherfucker!”

“You’re not allowed to stack them!” Dan argued, while still picking up the cards. He had been so close to winning, goddammit. “That’s against the official rules!”

“It’s not against the Nicole rules,” she said, and stuck her tongue out.

Dan sighed. “You really cannot stand loosing, can you?”

“And then—“ Zach cleared his throat. “There was the time Brendon got a fucking boner on stage.”

“Vices or Too Weird era?” Mike asked, tearing out a notebook page.

“I’m gonna go with Vices.”

Mike frowned. “Does he do this to all the new guys?”

“Nope,” Zach shook his head, “just the pretty boys with brown hair.”

“Well then why doesn’t he do this with Dan?”

From across the room, Dan smirked. “Nice try buddy, I’m a light brown.”

Mike looked confused. “Should I dye my hair?”

There was suddenly the unmistakable sound of someone throwing a deck of cards against a wall. Thwack. Dan winced as Nicole picked up the pack, and readied to throw it again. “You know, it’s not the card’s fault that one of them is missing,” Dan said, rather quietly.

“They have failed me and they have failed their kind!” Nicole shouted.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack!

“Uh…” Brendon lazily stroked himself, going just a bit too slow. He knew it wasn’t smart, jacking off in the bathroom. All it would take to find out what he was doing was a keen pair of ears and a watch. He really hadn’t been able to control himself lately. Starting up stage gay again was a dumb move, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help it—Mike had looked so fucking good today, and the way he’d reacted to Brendon all over him…fuck.

At that thought, Brendon speed up his movements. Soon he was panting, hunched over, fucking up into his own hand. He was so far gone, he stopped worrying about someone overhearing. Soon, he was coming undone to the thought of Mike completely helpless, trying not to get hard onstage. “Ah—ahh—“

The bus ride the next day was, surprisingly, not that awkward. Due to a lousy cleaning fluid, the bus smelled like plastic and apples, which they traded jokes about while sprawled in the seats. Mike didn’t mention what had happened on stage, and neither did Brendon. While eating a slightly damp ham and cheese sandwich, Mike wondered if it was always like this. If Brendon never really talked about stage gay to Dallon, if they sat in the same positions, dancing around a meaningful conversation and complaining about the weather.

Despite Mike’s existential mood, he managed to have fun. Being a member of The Other Three was an existence was that was nice enough in the in-between moments. The soothing car rides, lazy hotel games and midnight snacks. Those moments were heavenly in a plain kind of way. They were peaceful. That’s it. Peaceful. Being granted a slot of peace, especially in the music industry, was something precious. 

As they get off the bus, Mike feels a slip of paper press into his palm. He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Brendon. He accepts the slip, and puts it in his back pocket. He’ll read it later, he tells himself. He won’t rush into his hotel room at the speed of light. He won’t shake as he unfolds the paper, praying he hadn’t somehow ruined it. He won’t read the words with bated breath. He will be smart. He will not be stupid and put too much meaning into a single note. He knows better than that. He knows better than that.

No, he doesn’t. 

There wasn’t a lot in the note. Just an address—it looked like an apartment complex—and a time. Noon. Tomorrow. A few scribbled words lay at the very bottom: ‘Something to tell you.’

Mike’s brain scrambles to find an excuse. Any kind of comforting lie. “I mean, it’s not—“

Nicole snorts. “Honey, he wants to fuck you.”

“I’ve got to agree with her,” Dan says. “Look, if you don’t fuck, you don’t. It’s a fifteen minute ride to this place. You spend maybe ten minutes there, you’ll be gone for only…forty minutes. Total. And I won’t ask any questions. But if you take longer than that?”

“Then we’ll assume what we want to,” Nicole says, her legs swinging back and forth. 

Mike swallows. “That’s fair.”

“Hey,” Nicole adds, her voice softer. “We’re here for you. I get you’re probably terrified right now, even if you do want to do this with Brendon. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be afraid.”

It only takes a few words for Mike’s defenses to come crumbling down. He’s sitting between two of his closest friends, on a shitty hotel bed, and he’s trembling. “I’m so, I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose you guys.”

“Aw!” Dan hugs his anxious friend as best he can. “You can’t lose us, Mikes. Hell, you couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

The ‘morning after’. The designated time in which Brendon Urie would sneak out of Dallon Weekes’ room, back into his own, and avoid any and all social interaction for a solid hour, except with Zach. These times were hell for everyone involved. No one rested until Brendon was safe. And no one rested when he was safe, either. Because morning after Brendon had a habit of saying the most peculiar things. 

“You think the inventor of green eggs and ham was gay?” Brendon asked, wearing nothing but a towel.

Zach shook his head. “Please put some clothes on.”

“That’s not an answer!” Brendon spinned around. “Also, no.”

“I’m literally begging you.” He pretended to cross himself, despite not really knowing how. “In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit, get fucking dressed.”

Brendon stuck his tongue out, and swayed his hips. “No!”

Sometimes, when Zach was being even more idiotic than usual, and got much too drunk, he would say he missed morning afters. Those times were some of the worst of his life, but a small, stupid part of him missed them. For whatever reason. 

\---------------

Mike arrives exactly five minutes late. Brendon wasn’t big on keeping track of time, but he’d been staring at the clock for about an hour now, counting seconds and tapping his fingers. He was nervous—of course he was nervous. Of course his skin felt like peeling away and his stomach felt like dissolving. This part was always to hardest—it closed the wound, and created a new one.

“Hi,” Mike says. And he looks much too small, standing by the door like that. He looks like he doesn’t have a clue why he’s here.

Brendon hopes he does. “Hey! You’re late, you know.” It’s a stupid half-joke, but it helps ease a bit of the tension.

They quickly move to the kitchen, and Mike sits on the counter while Brendon rustles around in the fridge. They’re maybe ten feet apart, but it feels intimate. They are friends, Brendon reminds himself. Good friends. He still remembers first seeing Mike—the audition. What a dream that was. No complications, or arguments, just music. Brendon had decided right at the start that this era would just be about the music. No new attachments—just new songs. 

Of course, that was when Mike had to come along. Brendon rubs his temples, and gestures to a cabinet. “There’s a bit of coffee in there, I think.”

“You had something to tell me?” Mike asks. There’s a hopeful tint to his words that can’t be ignored.

Brendon turns, and smiles at him. “Um, yeah. But first I wanna feed you.”

As if on cue, Mike’s stomach growls. They laugh, and Brendon feels his cheeks warm. Everything is going to be fine, he tells himself. This isn’t a big deal. His reassurances, like always, spiral into denial.

Mike is blissfully ignorant of what’s going on inside his friend’s head. He takes a sip of Brendon’s coffee, and then a few more, and then he’s soon downed the entire cup. “Mm!”

There’s a bit of foam on his upper lip. Mike is still sitting on the counter, legs swinging back and forth. Too cute, Brendon thinks. Much too cute. Mike holds the cup with both hands, like its some ancient treasure, instead of a chipped mug that reads “World’s Best Dad” on one side. “So, I got your coffee order right then,” Brendon says, stepping just a few feet closer.

Mike rolls his eyes. “Stalker.” He looks adorable, smiling with his shoulders hunched.

Brendon can feels his insides twist into knots. He sets out a tray of scones anyway, and forces himself to stand next to Mike. This part is always the hardest, his mind repeats over and over. This part is always the hardest. It’s not going to get easier. It’s just not.

He licks his lips, and clears his throat. “Mike, about the thing, I—“

“I know.”

Mike’s facial expression doesn’t change, and his hands still grasp the cup. Brendon’s thoughts seem to have collapsed in on themselves. “Wha—“

“I know.” Mike shrugs. “I’ve known for a while now.”

All at once, he feels his plans and preparations fall away. All those months—gone. “I. Uh—“

Then Mike’s leaning forward, taking advantage of Brendon’s open mouth. 

It’s a short kiss, wet and sweet. They clack teeth. Goddammit. Brendon had a whole speech, a whole motherfucking speech, and he had scones, and coffee. He had everything all set out in little squares and Mike went and fucking ruined it by kissing him. 

He can’t find it in himself to be mad. 

Mike pulls back a little too soon. “You know, you’re a lot more cocky on stage,” he observes, his fingers shaking ever so slightly. “Please don’t tell me you’re actually a bottom. I-I’m so not a top.”

“Oh, shut up.” Brendon pulls him closer, his hand on the back of Mike’s neck. He’s not caught off guard this time—he kisses faster, and Mike just melts into it. 

He slides his tongue in the first chance he gets. They’re both so desperate for friction. For more contact, for more. 

They talk between kisses and nips. “How much—uh?”

“An hour, hour. Maybe more.” Mike falls right into Brendon’s arms. 

For a second, Brendon wonders if this should be more difficult. If it should require more effort. If he should be more careful, and try to avoid the inevitable. Then Mike wraps his legs around Brendon’s waist. “Fuck—plenty of time.” 

A giggle falls from Mike’s lips. “I know. You only took a few minutes after shows—coming back from the bathroom all flushed, I—“ Brendon bites down on his neck, “god, I knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Naughty little brat.” The edge is coming back into Brendon’s voice as he palms the front of Mike’s jeans. “Not telling me all your dirty thoughts. Pretending you didn’t know how much I wanted you. Could’ve fucked you so much sooner. You would like that, wouldn’t you? Such a little slut for master’s cock.”

Mike’s cock twitches at the thought. 

Then Brendon pulls back, a hand on his mouth. “Oh my god,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I’m so—“

Mike is just sitting there, a glaze over his eyes, cheeks flushed. Painfully hard. “S-sorry for what?” he manages to get out.

“I. I just said all that, and um, I don’t know what you’re into, what you like, fuck, I didn’t even give you an option to leave, or talk things through, I’m such a bad person, oh my god—“

“I don’t mind,” Mike says, somewhat amused by Brendon’s meltdown. “Listen to me Bren, I really don’t.” 

They’re still perilously close. “Um. What?”

Then Mike’s hands are on his chest, lightly tracing his skin. “Like I said. Definitely not a top. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, okay?”

Brendon nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He picks Mike up again, and pulls him into a harsh kiss. 

“Mm!” Mike’s arms go around his neck. It’s nice to see how sensitive he is. How easily he loses his breath. 

Poor thing is already so worked up, Brendon thinks, and we’ve barely begun. 

Just then, he locates a particularly sweet spot on Mike’s neck, causing Mike to shudder and try to close his thighs. No. No that won’t do at all. “Be a good little pet and keep those legs wide open for me,” Brendon growls.

And Mike’s following moan is so slutty Brendon can hardly believe it comes from such an innocent face. They’re up against a wall now, Mike’s back pressed to the paint, and Brendon’s hands cupping his ass. They just grind for a while, until Mike gets more and more desperate and his kisses sloppier. “What are you gonna do?” Mike asks, meeting Brendon’s hips halfway. “F—oh—fuck me?”

Brendon groans. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

“Ah—“

“You like that? Hm?”

Mike just lets out a whine. He loves the way Brendon’s treating him, like he’s just a useless whore, who can’t do anything that doesn’t involve sex. The thought that Brendon is just using his body, that he’s disposable, worth nothing more than a quick fuck—his eyes roll back in his head.

“I asked you a question.” Brendon scratches a fingernail down Mike’s arm, and he can already tell it’s going to make a mark.

He loves that. Loves the ways Brendon is claiming him. “Yes!”

“Say the full sentence, baby.”

“Yes, I like that!” 

Brendon chuckles. “Of course you do.”

It’s quiet back at the hotel. The forty-minute window was close to ending, and both Nicole and Dan knew why Mike wouldn’t be back anytime soon. They weren’t surprised—how could they be—but they were worried. They played chess in the hotel lobby, ignoring the cleaning lady’s dirty looks.

“I’m killing you again,” Nicole bragged, and moved her pawn.

Dan shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah,” Nicole nodded. “You could have Brendon’s dick, like, inside you right now.” 

Their following sniggers were enough to warrant yet another mean look from the hotel staff. Which was rather unfair, really. Oh well, Nicole thought. Can’t please everyone. 

It’s strange. But sitting in that lobby, playing chess with Dan, a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses on her head and a little wine in her belly, Nicole feels more like a rockstar than she ever has.

“Wanna—wanna ride you,” Mike gasps out. The thought of Mike, soft innocent Mike, fucking himself on his cock—it’s almost too much. 

Still, Brendon shakes his head. “Want to eat you out first.”

“I—“ Mike swallows. “I’ve never—“

“’S okay,” Brendon says, pressing a kiss to Mike’s forehead. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ll be fine. Sit on the couch, sweetheart.”

Mike does as he’s told. It’s been a while since he’s let someone completely dominate him—tell him what do, boss him around. He’s missed it. 

Brendon kneels in front of him almost instantly, pulling his pants down to his ankles. “God, I could be between those legs for days.”

Mike can only whimper as Brendon licks and bites at the inside of his thighs. It feels good, tortuously good. He can barely stand it when Brendon’s thumb inches closer to his hole.

“Fuck, I—“

“You what?” Brendon’s grinning, one finger inside him and another softly caressing the bitten skin.

He moans, and tosses his head back. “Please, please, your mouth, I need—“

Then, Brendon presses his tongue inside him, making Mike’s already jumbled thoughts lose all coherency.

“I—oh my god—feels so fucking—oh my god, oh my god—“

Brendon just holds on to him, tongue going deeper and deeper. Mike does a frenzied grab at Brendon’s hair, and even though he normally hates that, Brendon makes an exception here. It’s just so satisfying to feel Mike fall apart at the slightest touch. 

He pulls his tongue out, and Mike whines. “You’re close, aren’t you?

“Yes, yes I am, please let me come, please master, I—“

“Hm. Thought you wanted to ride me?” 

“I do want to, I do, I, fuck, please I just need to come, please—“

And Brendon laughs. “Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

There is absolutely no reason for Zach to be doing a perimeter check. Everyone knew this. Especially Zach. But he wasn’t getting any sleep tonight anyway. It’s not like he was doing anything wrong either—he was just walking around. It was good exercise, at the very least.

It also helped him concentrate his thoughts on something else other than Brendon. What Brendon was doing. Why Brendon was doing this. What would happen in the end, no matter what. They weren’t pleasant thoughts, and Zach was so sick of having unpleasant thoughts. It drained him. More than he’d like to admit.

He still remembered the last ‘morning after.’ The exact time eludes him, but every other detail remains in sharp, blazing technicolor. They met on a balcony this time. Some empty room’s with a fantastic view of the city. Perfect weather, too. The kind that makes children’s storybooks seem plausible. Brendon was holding a cigarette—not smoking, he’d quit by then—just holding it. 

Zach was berating him, every word laced with venom. “You are the absolute worst, Brendon. The fucking worst.”

No laugh this time. Just a nod. A quick glance at the trees below. The birds above. The sickly blue pool with a dolphin etched on its bottom. “You know, I think I’m okay with that.”

“You’re okay with being the worst? With breaking your own heart every fucking day?”

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. “What other choice do I have?”

Mike stumbles into the bedroom, Brendon not far behind him. They lose clothes along the way—belts come off, socks and undershirts too. It’s only a matter of time until Mike lies bare naked against the sheets, while Brendon hastily pushes two fingers in, fucking in and out.

“You’re tight, you know that?” Brendon says, his breathing heavy. 

“I—“ Mike can’t help but moan as Brendon’s fingers brush against his prostate. “Right there, fuck, right there!”

“I’m gonna prep you for just a bit longer,” Brendon says, voice steady. “Then I’m gonna fuck you.”

“No!” Mike pouts. “Want you now!”

He sounds too much like a spoiled little brat, and Brendon can’t help but smile. “You need more prep, hon. Trust me.”

Mike is insistent. “I’m ready, fuck me. Come on, fuck me! ” He pulls Brendon closer to him, and moans at the sudden touch. Brendon’s breath hitches. 

In that moment, Brendon knows Mike’s not fully stretched yet. He knows he needs a little more time, even if Brendon ate him out earlier. But fuck, he just wants him so bad. He scissors his fingers a few more times, and then pulls out. There’s nothing wrong with getting a little rough, he tells himself as he puts on a condom. Nothing wrong with it. At. All. 

He looks at Mike, and his eyes ask what he doesn’t know how to say aloud. Mike nods. He presses the head of his cock into Mike’s hole. 

Mike’s whole body jerks. “Oh—“

“Shh. Almost there my pet.” He takes a breath, and reminds himself this is what Mike wanted before sliding all the way in.

“Fuck, Brendon.“ Mike’s mouth is in a perfect ‘o’ shape, and it’s so glorious Brendon is worried about coming right then and there.

Instead he stays still, hoping to give Mike a moment to adjust. “Hurts, huh?”

“You—sadistic—“ He feels a set of hands grab onto his shoulders. 

Brendon just has to laugh. “Oh, dominant, definitely. Sadistic? Now that’s just mean. You want me to move?”

Mike nods—pretty quickly for someone in supposedly unbearable pain.

He starts with slow thrusts, just trying to find a rhythm that works for them. Brendon wouldn’t admit it, but he loves how tight Mike is around him. He loves the small pained whimpers Mike lets out as the air fills with the sound of slapping skin. He loves how Mike bites down on his lip in a desperate attempt to be quiet. It’s so rough but it’s so, so good, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You alright baby?”

Mike nods. “Y-yeah. But I’ll be better if you kiss me.”

“Anything.” Brendon leans down, and presses little saccharine kisses all over Mike’s mouth, while still thrusting into him.

Just then, Mike’s eyes widen, and his back arches off the bed. “Oh!”

“There, huh?” Brendon starts pounding into that one spot hard, fucking him relentlessly. “You like that, you little cock slut?”

“Yes! Yes, I like it! Only a slut for you master, please, master—“ Mike babbles, almost not able to form actual words anymore.

“Please what?” 

“Want it harder, master, want to feel it tomorrow, please!”

“Hm. You think you deserve that?” Brendon says, and Mike doesn’t know how he hasn’t dissolved into a mess by now.

“Yes,” Mike lets out a high moan as Brendon thrusts into him again. “Been so good…”

“No you haven’t,” Brendon growls, and bites down on Mike’s lower lip. “You’re a filthy little liar. Say it.”

Mike can barely breathe, he’s so overwhelmed. “I’m a filthy little liar!”

Brendon licks his lips, wraps a hand around Mike’s leaking cock. He begins to pump him, faster and faster. Mike moans, thrusting into Brendon’s touch. “You’re close, huh?”

“So close!” 

“You’re only allowed to come if you beg for it. Got it?”

“Yes master!”

“Then beg, slut.”

“Please,” he whispers softly, worn out from the overstimulation.

Brendon huffs, and scratches down Mike’s thigh. “Try again, whore.”

“Please master, please let me!”

He smirks, and presses a soft kiss to Mike’s forehead. “Go ahead, baby.”

Just like that, it’s over. Mike comes in thick, white spurts. And the feeling of Mike tightening around him is just enough to drive Brendon over the edge. He strokes Mike lazily before pulling out and tossing the condom into the trash. They lay down next to each other, panting, staring up at the ceiling. 

Gradually, they both come down from their highs. Mike smiles, and turns towards Brendon. “I—I’m so not going to be able to move tomorrow.”

Brendon hums, and places a hand on Mike’s chest. “I don’t blame you. You really didn’t want prep, huh?”

Mike’s cheeks warm. “Oh shut up. It’s not like I had a lot of experience, okay?”

And the joking tone falls from Brendon’s voice. It’s replaced by a soft undercurrent of concern. “What?”

“Relax, Bren. You just took my gayginity, that’s all.”

Brendon squints. “What?” he asks again.

Mike sighs, and looks right back into Brendon’s eyes. “You took my gayginity. Gay virginity, whatever. Up until you, it’s just been girls.”

This doesn’t serve to calm Brendon down whatsoever. “You could’ve fucking told me!” he says, his voice much louder. “I would’ve, I don’t know, made it more romantic and shit—like put on Coltrane and made a trail of petals to bed, and done all that cheesy stuff. I would’ve made it nice for you.”

“It was nice,” Mike says, and grins. “I don’t like Coltrane. Petals are nice, but they’d be a pain to clean up. Cheesy isn’t really my style, not in bed anyway. I just wanted you.”

Brendon frowns. “Still.”

“‘Still’ what?”

There’s a few minutes of silence before Brendon talks again. “I don’t want this to be, like, a one night thing, Mike. I like you, and I don’t want to just, not be with you once and then go, you know? So I just, I think we should be more honest with each other, if we um, continue.”

“Mm.” Mike licks his lips. “Makes sense.”

It’s not that late—early evening, maybe. But Mike still falls asleep in Brendon’s arms, tired and worn out by everything that had happened. Brendon can only hold him, and listen to Mike’s breath. In, and out. In, and out. It’s comforting, in a way. Being on tour means rarely relaxing, rarely letting yourself be calmed down. Tour winds you up. That’s how he’d explained it to Sarah, one late feburary morning—it winds me up. I can’t help it. I’m so sorry. And she had understood as much as she could. She’d forgiven him.

He was drawn to Mike because Mike didn’t seem to worry about anything. That was unrealistic, he knew. No one has never worried. It’s human to worry. But Mike seemed to know how to stop himself from spiraling. Mike seemed to know how to be sane when a situation called for it. Mike was stable. Kind. And gorgeous. Brendon knew he never stood a chance.

He presses a damp kiss into Mike’s hair. “You’re going to break my heart,” he mumbles into it.

“I’ll try not to,” Mike jokes, half asleep.

“I’m sure you will,” Brendon says. And in that moment, he knows his fate is sealed.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I feel like the most fake aspect of this story is that Zach isn't a total asshole. Anyway. Sorry you had to read all that.


End file.
